Death
Before venturing on this most profound of topics, let us laugh a little. For a sense of humor allows one to believe in God more easily.
P.G. Wodehouse who proved that Pigs Have Wings, had his views on Gandhi too.
In one of short stories, Bertie says (and like Homer Simpson, “says” is a weak word, maybe "he pearled” or at the very modest, "he uttered” would be more appropriate):
"Why is there unrest in India? Because its inhabitants eat only an occasional handful of rice. The day when Mahatma Gandhi sits down to a good juicy steak and follows it up with roly-poly pudding and a spot of Stilton, you will see the end of all this nonsense of Civil Disobedience."
Yes, death is indeed a sad thing, considering how many more stories he could have written or how many more tunes John Lennon might have sung. But there are people who believe that dying might have been the best career move Marilyn Monroe could have ever made and like any argument it deserves a place in the sun.
All Indians have one thing in common. They believe that all things have their origin in India, what with India being so ancient and diverse and all. Water irrigation, mathematics (yes zero was invented by an Indian), language and indeed most everything save for the football mania in Brazil have according to this sect sprung from the loins of Mother India. India has not without reason been known as a nation of philosophisers. We have appropriated this comment without second thought. And yet, as Gandhi points out, we rejoice madly at every birth and lament uncontrollably at every death. Beat those chests and wail loudly! Gandhi dismisses this as utter nonsense. He has utter and total faith in the eternity of the soul. Hence, he also believes in reincarnation and says that people die only to be born again. Death for him is only a big change in life. It puts an end to suffering and should be viewed as a friend. Death is an absolute truth. Just as Amitabh sings in one of his movies:
Life is an unfaithful mistress, it keeps scorning you and will leave you one day,
Death is a faithful lover and will take you with Her.”
Ditto, says Gandhi.
Even Aristotle and his sect of followers have similar thoughts on the subject. One of those people with Greek sounding names (not Diabetes) says: Death puts an end to suffering and to existence. To feel bitter towards the happy would be envy and to feel bitter towards the non-existent is pure madness.
It is human nature to be scared of what is not known. But as Gandhi says, death is merely the time to pack up your bags and go and meet your maker. He says that it is twice blessed to die a warrior, in the service of humanity. Such a warrior embraces death as a friend.
Then what of the suicide bombers, a profession that guarantees you a page in the newspapers so easily? “Silly jackasses,” Bertie Wooster would say. And Gandhi would agree. He says that to decide someone else is in the wrong, and on that basis to err against God and man, seeking such a death is wrong. To die a martyr is fortunate, to lust after martyrdom is idiocy and immoral. Gandhi says that it cuts short a life that could have been put in service and on this rationale condemns suicide as a sin. I don’t know any suicide bomber personally, but don’t they have schools to build? Roads to clean? Mouths to feed?
Of course, all the people who died on September 11 and the people who die so regularly due to a lack of basic rights all around the world are all part of this one big tragedy. Sad, because the emotion that propelled them to this untimely fate is hate and its many forms. Retaliations and counter retaliations mean that death can be used as a currency to exchange more hate. That is what is unfortunate, for this cycle will never end. Death is a fortunate happening and the one true event. It is a natural phenomenon meant to induce rest. Usage of its occurrence to spread hate is wrong.
I know all of this is easy to say and requires a big leap of faith. Personally, I am not scared of death. And I don’t feel devastated at other people dying. I hope that depression or callousness in any form is not one of the causes. I do fear pain to a great extent and am the first to cross the street when bums scream angrily at everyone around.
The same attitude that will help you meet strange women at bars has to be carried on to a larger degree. One has to look beyond oneself (the whole within you without you thing) and towards everything external and feel part of everyone and everything.
Somebody asked Gandhi,
“Ah, Christ! that it were possible,
For one short hour to see,
The souls we loved that they might tell us,
What and where they might be.”
Gandhi says that such as desire would never come into the mind of a truly detached mind He quotes Cardinal Newman,
“I do not seek to see the distant scene,
One step is enough for me.”
The good cardinal is right on the money.
Before venturing on this most profound of topics, let us laugh a little. For a sense of humor allows one to believe in God more easily.
P.G. Wodehouse who proved that Pigs Have Wings, had his views on Gandhi too.
In one of short stories, Bertie says (and like Homer Simpson, “says” is a weak word, maybe "he pearled” or at the very modest, "he uttered” would be more appropriate):
"Why is there unrest in India? Because its inhabitants eat only an occasional handful of rice. The day when Mahatma Gandhi sits down to a good juicy steak and follows it up with roly-poly pudding and a spot of Stilton, you will see the end of all this nonsense of Civil Disobedience."
Yes, death is indeed a sad thing, considering how many more stories he could have written or how many more tunes John Lennon might have sung. But there are people who believe that dying might have been the best career move Marilyn Monroe could have ever made and like any argument it deserves a place in the sun.
All Indians have one thing in common. They believe that all things have their origin in India, what with India being so ancient and diverse and all. Water irrigation, mathematics (yes zero was invented by an Indian), language and indeed most everything save for the football mania in Brazil have according to this sect sprung from the loins of Mother India. India has not without reason been known as a nation of philosophisers. We have appropriated this comment without second thought. And yet, as Gandhi points out, we rejoice madly at every birth and lament uncontrollably at every death. Beat those chests and wail loudly! Gandhi dismisses this as utter nonsense. He has utter and total faith in the eternity of the soul. Hence, he also believes in reincarnation and says that people die only to be born again. Death for him is only a big change in life. It puts an end to suffering and should be viewed as a friend. Death is an absolute truth. Just as Amitabh sings in one of his movies:
Life is an unfaithful mistress, it keeps scorning you and will leave you one day,
Death is a faithful lover and will take you with Her.”
Ditto, says Gandhi.
Even Aristotle and his sect of followers have similar thoughts on the subject. One of those people with Greek sounding names (not Diabetes) says: Death puts an end to suffering and to existence. To feel bitter towards the happy would be envy and to feel bitter towards the non-existent is pure madness.
It is human nature to be scared of what is not known. But as Gandhi says, death is merely the time to pack up your bags and go and meet your maker. He says that it is twice blessed to die a warrior, in the service of humanity. Such a warrior embraces death as a friend.
Then what of the suicide bombers, a profession that guarantees you a page in the newspapers so easily? “Silly jackasses,” Bertie Wooster would say. And Gandhi would agree. He says that to decide someone else is in the wrong, and on that basis to err against God and man, seeking such a death is wrong. To die a martyr is fortunate, to lust after martyrdom is idiocy and immoral. Gandhi says that it cuts short a life that could have been put in service and on this rationale condemns suicide as a sin. I don’t know any suicide bomber personally, but don’t they have schools to build? Roads to clean? Mouths to feed?
Of course, all the people who died on September 11 and the people who die so regularly due to a lack of basic rights all around the world are all part of this one big tragedy. Sad, because the emotion that propelled them to this untimely fate is hate and its many forms. Retaliations and counter retaliations mean that death can be used as a currency to exchange more hate. That is what is unfortunate, for this cycle will never end. Death is a fortunate happening and the one true event. It is a natural phenomenon meant to induce rest. Usage of its occurrence to spread hate is wrong.
I know all of this is easy to say and requires a big leap of faith. Personally, I am not scared of death. And I don’t feel devastated at other people dying. I hope that depression or callousness in any form is not one of the causes. I do fear pain to a great extent and am the first to cross the street when bums scream angrily at everyone around.
The same attitude that will help you meet strange women at bars has to be carried on to a larger degree. One has to look beyond oneself (the whole within you without you thing) and towards everything external and feel part of everyone and everything.
Somebody asked Gandhi,
“Ah, Christ! that it were possible,
For one short hour to see,
The souls we loved that they might tell us,
What and where they might be.”
Gandhi says that such as desire would never come into the mind of a truly detached mind He quotes Cardinal Newman,
“I do not seek to see the distant scene,
One step is enough for me.”
The good cardinal is right on the money.
Change in my top ten
Long, long ago there lived a young prince. At the request of his parents, he had never steeped out of his castle. One day, he felt rebellious and disobeyed his father. He commanded his charioteer to drive him out of the palace. What he saw there shocked him. No, he didn't see Celine Dion sing or anything. He saw an old man dying. He saw a diseased woman. And images of misery assaulted themselves on his mind in this manner continuously. This caused him to question himself about the world outside, a world he had just learnt about. The thoughts going through his mind were very similar to those going through the minds of many Americans on Sep 11, 2001.
It is nearly September 11, 2002. Can you believe how quickly one year has gone by? In coming days, the weblog will try to analyze causes, after effects and America's response. We shall keep in mind that violence is better than cowardice and non violence is truly for the very brave. We shall also examine whether carrots have stopped growing in the fields of Texas. Are the donkeys there content with sticks for company?
To begin on a personal note, the sands of time are indeed very slippery (this is one cliche I have felt to be true, unlike 'a stitch in time saves nine' or words like that). I have passed through a large portion of my life with words, actions and thoughts liquefying together in this uncontrollable gushing stream, taking me on a ride over which I have no control. I can never feel for an anchor point on the slippery sands, where I can stop and measure myself in relation to that point. Pause. Gather myself. Contemplate. Start again. Well, on September 11, 2001 the sand clock swallowed a large fishbone. It choked for an instant. We can now look back in the past at a definite moment instead of fuzzy yesterdays and day befores.
Did that day change us?
Compared to that day, have I become like the spinning wheel that churns out cloth continuously, irrespective of thread count or the wearer?
A glass bangle can be stored away for years without breaking. But life can be snuffed away in an instant. Do I know this to be true?
Has my life truly changed? Or do even the alleys I duck into to hide from the dog called boredom appear monotonous after all this time?
What are the ten things I will miss most if I were to die? Do I even have a top ten list?
I think I do. John Lennon would always stay at number one. But there has been a change. P.G. Wodehouse has moved to number three to make way for something I enjoy more. This "Trying to be like Gandhi" weblog and writing for Cutting Chai.
Next time, we discuss death.
Long, long ago there lived a young prince. At the request of his parents, he had never steeped out of his castle. One day, he felt rebellious and disobeyed his father. He commanded his charioteer to drive him out of the palace. What he saw there shocked him. No, he didn't see Celine Dion sing or anything. He saw an old man dying. He saw a diseased woman. And images of misery assaulted themselves on his mind in this manner continuously. This caused him to question himself about the world outside, a world he had just learnt about. The thoughts going through his mind were very similar to those going through the minds of many Americans on Sep 11, 2001.
It is nearly September 11, 2002. Can you believe how quickly one year has gone by? In coming days, the weblog will try to analyze causes, after effects and America's response. We shall keep in mind that violence is better than cowardice and non violence is truly for the very brave. We shall also examine whether carrots have stopped growing in the fields of Texas. Are the donkeys there content with sticks for company?
To begin on a personal note, the sands of time are indeed very slippery (this is one cliche I have felt to be true, unlike 'a stitch in time saves nine' or words like that). I have passed through a large portion of my life with words, actions and thoughts liquefying together in this uncontrollable gushing stream, taking me on a ride over which I have no control. I can never feel for an anchor point on the slippery sands, where I can stop and measure myself in relation to that point. Pause. Gather myself. Contemplate. Start again. Well, on September 11, 2001 the sand clock swallowed a large fishbone. It choked for an instant. We can now look back in the past at a definite moment instead of fuzzy yesterdays and day befores.
Did that day change us?
Compared to that day, have I become like the spinning wheel that churns out cloth continuously, irrespective of thread count or the wearer?
A glass bangle can be stored away for years without breaking. But life can be snuffed away in an instant. Do I know this to be true?
Has my life truly changed? Or do even the alleys I duck into to hide from the dog called boredom appear monotonous after all this time?
What are the ten things I will miss most if I were to die? Do I even have a top ten list?
I think I do. John Lennon would always stay at number one. But there has been a change. P.G. Wodehouse has moved to number three to make way for something I enjoy more. This "Trying to be like Gandhi" weblog and writing for Cutting Chai.
Next time, we discuss death.
On alcohol and cigarettes
What does it sound like when one of the pillars in your life comes crashing down? A numbing silence, let me tell you. I haven't lead much of a life, but many of my happiest moments have been spent in the company of people, when we were all in the company of alcohol. And yet, today I feel that, the influence of alcohol over the long term is to numb the brain. For days after I drink, I feel sluggish. I have to dig deep into the realm of memory to find the meaning and essence of the world "activity". I have realized that if you want to field deep at third man, where no ball is going to come your way, it is all right to go ahead and have a swig. But there is no room for Bacardis for the fielder at point. The agile leaper at short cover must surely think Tanqueray is the name of an island deep in the South Pacific. This cataclysmic realization, the moment of clarity as they say in AA meetings, that I am currently experiencing poses a problem. Not to drink is unthinkable and binds my thoughts to a bed of unnecessary principles. There has to be a solution. Gandhi must have the answer.
Gandhi was an advocate of prohibition. He was willing to accept the argument that drinks in moderation are beneficial. But the path of moderation, the path of the Buddha is for a few. Gandhi had the interests of the nation at heart. He was practical enough to see that innumerable people (that is approximately the population of India) cannot be kept under discipline. The drunkard, he says, forgets the distinction between wife, mother and sister, which would at best make for unpleasant conversation. It was with this in mind that Gandhi was a proponent of this most extreme of steps. He cites the example of the then African slaves in America, who took to the bottle and lost their graceful ways. Gandhi is luckier than I am and has seen "respectable English gentlemen rolling in the gutters". To put it in a nutshell, alcohol, he says ruins one physically, morally, intellectually and economically.
I am a young fellow and will worry about the lungs, pancreas and heart at a later time. Suffering from vertigo, I dislike taking a moral high stand. It is the degradation of the latter two that I am worried about. Alcohol deprives you of the courage to answer "yes" to an ATM/Cash machine when it asks you if you want a printed transaction of your withdrawal with remaining balance. That is the stuff nightmares are made of. I have found that alcohol keep me poor. What is even more disturbing is that I forget I am poor when I am under the influence of alcohol. If life goes on in this manner, will I ever be able to show a brave face to the salaried employees of Verizon, AT&T and Con Edison? Not likely, I fear. Like all normal people, I too wish to open my mailbox with a jaunty demeanor and look at bills straight in the eye.
Alcohol numbs the intellect. All the great inventions of the world had one thing in common. The inventors, while inventing them, never suffered from hangovers. Edison never said, "Yes Jonty. Last night was rough, but stroll over and check out this new thing...gramophone is what I think I shall call it."
The worst thing I could say about alcohol, from a strictly personal standpoint is that it causes you to smoke. Cigarettes take on the characteristics of a genie in modern day Baghdad while under the influence of beautiful liquor. You don't have to read Gandhi to see the harmful effects (Even though in pre lab testing days he says that there is not a single benefit to be gained out of smoking). They say that cigarettes are bad for lungs and all that. I do not know if this is true. I have seen plenty of men living to ripe old ages, who light a cigarette before saying "Good Morning." What I am concerned about is the absolute loss of productivity when a person smokes. The empty space in the pocket, which should hold a pen or a scientific calculator, need not be occupied by matches. This is not about tying the seat belt. It is about enjoying the journey.
Who is a young person? One who feels that there is something else to be done in life. Alcohol and cigarettes take away that feeling. They make you tired as they make each waking moment sluggish. It is not death, which I imagine to be restful; a state that does away with the need for annoying "Do Not Disturb signs". It is far worse and one might as well climb the corporate ladder in a mechanical manner for the remainder of one's years.
Then am I never destined to listen to Air at Swim bar? Or will the African rhythms at Zinc lounge never make them selves audible to my eager ears? Sure, over one drink. Perhaps two. This is the path of moderation, the middle way.
Imagine a cheetah going for a fast prey or modeling for a Jeep commercial. Even this magnificent beast does saunter off to the pond for an occasional drink. Every time, it drinks it drinks slowly. It does not quench its thirst for a time period spanning eternity. If it did spend all its time at the pond, even a lame deer would walk by it with haughty disdain.
Yes, think of the cheetah. And remember, even a very thirsty cheetah would never smoke.
What does it sound like when one of the pillars in your life comes crashing down? A numbing silence, let me tell you. I haven't lead much of a life, but many of my happiest moments have been spent in the company of people, when we were all in the company of alcohol. And yet, today I feel that, the influence of alcohol over the long term is to numb the brain. For days after I drink, I feel sluggish. I have to dig deep into the realm of memory to find the meaning and essence of the world "activity". I have realized that if you want to field deep at third man, where no ball is going to come your way, it is all right to go ahead and have a swig. But there is no room for Bacardis for the fielder at point. The agile leaper at short cover must surely think Tanqueray is the name of an island deep in the South Pacific. This cataclysmic realization, the moment of clarity as they say in AA meetings, that I am currently experiencing poses a problem. Not to drink is unthinkable and binds my thoughts to a bed of unnecessary principles. There has to be a solution. Gandhi must have the answer.
Gandhi was an advocate of prohibition. He was willing to accept the argument that drinks in moderation are beneficial. But the path of moderation, the path of the Buddha is for a few. Gandhi had the interests of the nation at heart. He was practical enough to see that innumerable people (that is approximately the population of India) cannot be kept under discipline. The drunkard, he says, forgets the distinction between wife, mother and sister, which would at best make for unpleasant conversation. It was with this in mind that Gandhi was a proponent of this most extreme of steps. He cites the example of the then African slaves in America, who took to the bottle and lost their graceful ways. Gandhi is luckier than I am and has seen "respectable English gentlemen rolling in the gutters". To put it in a nutshell, alcohol, he says ruins one physically, morally, intellectually and economically.
I am a young fellow and will worry about the lungs, pancreas and heart at a later time. Suffering from vertigo, I dislike taking a moral high stand. It is the degradation of the latter two that I am worried about. Alcohol deprives you of the courage to answer "yes" to an ATM/Cash machine when it asks you if you want a printed transaction of your withdrawal with remaining balance. That is the stuff nightmares are made of. I have found that alcohol keep me poor. What is even more disturbing is that I forget I am poor when I am under the influence of alcohol. If life goes on in this manner, will I ever be able to show a brave face to the salaried employees of Verizon, AT&T and Con Edison? Not likely, I fear. Like all normal people, I too wish to open my mailbox with a jaunty demeanor and look at bills straight in the eye.
Alcohol numbs the intellect. All the great inventions of the world had one thing in common. The inventors, while inventing them, never suffered from hangovers. Edison never said, "Yes Jonty. Last night was rough, but stroll over and check out this new thing...gramophone is what I think I shall call it."
The worst thing I could say about alcohol, from a strictly personal standpoint is that it causes you to smoke. Cigarettes take on the characteristics of a genie in modern day Baghdad while under the influence of beautiful liquor. You don't have to read Gandhi to see the harmful effects (Even though in pre lab testing days he says that there is not a single benefit to be gained out of smoking). They say that cigarettes are bad for lungs and all that. I do not know if this is true. I have seen plenty of men living to ripe old ages, who light a cigarette before saying "Good Morning." What I am concerned about is the absolute loss of productivity when a person smokes. The empty space in the pocket, which should hold a pen or a scientific calculator, need not be occupied by matches. This is not about tying the seat belt. It is about enjoying the journey.
Who is a young person? One who feels that there is something else to be done in life. Alcohol and cigarettes take away that feeling. They make you tired as they make each waking moment sluggish. It is not death, which I imagine to be restful; a state that does away with the need for annoying "Do Not Disturb signs". It is far worse and one might as well climb the corporate ladder in a mechanical manner for the remainder of one's years.
Then am I never destined to listen to Air at Swim bar? Or will the African rhythms at Zinc lounge never make them selves audible to my eager ears? Sure, over one drink. Perhaps two. This is the path of moderation, the middle way.
Imagine a cheetah going for a fast prey or modeling for a Jeep commercial. Even this magnificent beast does saunter off to the pond for an occasional drink. Every time, it drinks it drinks slowly. It does not quench its thirst for a time period spanning eternity. If it did spend all its time at the pond, even a lame deer would walk by it with haughty disdain.
Yes, think of the cheetah. And remember, even a very thirsty cheetah would never smoke.
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